I just want to know why...

In the last week, a friend of mine and I decided to start a facebook page and a petition having to do with car seat safety.

It EXPLODED!

This is a good thing because we are drawing attention. There are others out there who think this is as much of a worthy cause as we do.

The drawback is the backlash. Granted, it has been less than expected; however, it's still difficult for me to process.

I just want to know why? Why is it so hard to simply say, "I had no idea I was endangering my child by doing this. I'll do everything I can to fix it."? I am a mother. I have said this very statement many times before. It may have bruised my pride, but I am willing to admit when I have fucked up.

Why is it so much more important to defend your own position than to simply fix an easily corrected mistake? I just don't get it.

Everyone thinks I'm this self righteous bitch that just gets her rocks off by judging someone else's parenting. That is not the case. Many parents do things every single day that I do not choose to do myself, and we are still friends in spite of it.

Car seat safety is not a matter of parental decision. It's a matter of the LAW and scientific facts. Parental decision is taken out of the equation.

The fact is, when I know there is a baby that I cannot save because of the parents' unwillingness to admit fault, I cry.

I am NOT the 99%...

And by that, I don't mean I am rich. Far from it. However, I am SO sick of the ridiculous "Occupy Wall Street" posts on my Facebook wall that I could scream!

The first thing that started annoying me about this "movement" is that about 80% of the people posting and re-posting it on my Facebook wall are people my age that still live with their parents and have never held any discernible job. The second was all of the fucking whining about how "ZOMG! There are people that are rich and I'm not! No fair!" mentality.

I could really go on forever, but I'm going to present you with my life (picture it on a sandwich board if you want to)...

I am a Stay-At-Home-Mom of three daughters.

My husband is an E-5 member of the U.S. Navy (go ahead and look up his salary. it's easy).

All of my children have been (and still are) exclusively breastfed. That saves us (and the federal government since I'm not crying to them about the costs of infant poison) $230 per month, at a minimum.

My children that are not potty trained wear cloth diapers. The initial investment of this was around $300. However, I would be spending $150 per month on disposable diapers.

We live in military housing because it is cheaper than renting or buying in this area.

We do not have cable. We use Netflix and Hulu which saves us $150 per month.

We have 2 vehicles; one of which is paid off, therefore, we have no plans of buying new ones and taking on payments we cannot afford.

Are there things that we want that we don't have? Sure. That is human nature. Are there times when things are MUCH tighter than we feel they should be? Yes. Ultimately, the point is that instead of bitching about what I don't have and can't afford (there's always something. iPad, maybe?), i take a few deep breaths and realize everything that I DO have, and I am damn grateful for it! I have the ability to be home with my young children every day. I have a nice house. I have a car that I love. When my kids take a nap, I can watch documentaries on Netflix. The bills are paid. There's food on the table. 99% of the time, we are having a fucking blast!

That's my 99%. I will NOT be your 99%.

Why buy the cow when you can get the sex for free...

I hate to disappoint my constituency, but this post isn't about cows or sex. It is about milk, so that's bovine, and it is about boobs, so that's sexy. There you go.

I've been toying with the idea of donating my freezer full of breastmilk for a while now, but I just couldn't quite get it right. I tried to just give it all to the NICU when P-Funk was discharged, but they wouldn't accept from a private donor. I went through the application process with the national milk bank, but they want you to use their pump, storage supplies, and then ship it. Besides, they wanted so much damn paperwork and information, I half expected them to ask me for a semen sample. Besides, my milk was still freeloading in my friend Jodi's deep freezer in Virginia Beach until I could figure out a safe way to transport it.

So I joined "Human Milk for Human Babies" on facebook. I had browsed a few posts asking for milk, but they were all too far away. Many were asking for donors who were vegetarian or lactose free, of which I am neither. It started to give me a complex! Who the hell would want my milk? I'm just an ordinary mom of 3 that has to eat when the getting is good. I, by no means gorge myself on junk food all the time, but if I want a cookie, damn it, I'm going to eat one!

I went to Virginia Beach this weekend to hang out with some friends and get my face rocked off by Def Leppard, and was planning on hauling all of that milk back to Maryland with me, praying that it didn't thaw out along the way. When I checked my facebook this morning, I saw a post from a mom in Virginia in need of milk. Turns out, she wasn't too far off my route back, so we messaged back and forth and came up with a place and time to meet up.

Of course, I ended up getting stuck in the worst stop and go traffic I've ever experienced (started at the tunnel and didn't let up until I was well past Richmond), so I felt like a jackass for making the poor girl wait all that time. I finally arrived. I nursed Petra, changed her diaper, and pumped a fresh bottle for my new little milk baby while his mother transfered the milk to her coolers. I'll admit, it was one of the most awesome things I have ever done!

It turned out that this mom had 2 kids in rear facing car seats, was well versed in baby carriers and cloth diapers, and obviously went to great lengths to provide breast milk for her son when she herself could not provide it. She was married to a soldier in the US Army, which I'll let slide (GO NAVY! TeeHee!).

I was sufficiently humbled, but at the same time, reassured. I had always thought that the age old statement of, "I didn't make enough milk," to be just an excuse for lazy bitches that couldn't hack it, but it really does happen, and it's not anybody's fault when it does. I was also pleasantly surprised to realize that there are people out there that are doing things the same way I am, so I must not be completely insane, right?

When did I turn into such a damn hippy?

So much potential; I can't stand to watch it withering away...

http://theleakyboob.com/2011/06/the-high-life-of-a-wic-breastfeeding-peer-counselor/

I was sent a link to this blog earlier, and (to put it nicely) it really pissed me off.

First, I have issues with WIC. I am married to an e-5 member of the United States Navy, so we more than qualify. We've even been on WIC in the past. However, my personal experiences with them have been less than mediocre, so at this point in time, I'd rather stretch my budget than deal with them.

I decided to apply for WIC when I found myself unexpectedly pregnant with a third child. My older two daughters could go through a gallon of milk every day, a loaf of bread every two, and I had lost count of how much cheese they ate. My husband was continually gone on "work-ups," which meant that he wasn't home much, and I was left to try and stretch his paycheck to feed our family.

I made an appointment at the local Health Department, packed up my kids, and showed up on time. From the moment I walked in the door, I was made to feel inferior, unintelligent, and ashamed. It was as if I was judged from the moment of entry. As far as they were concerned, I was in the same category as a welfare mom addicted to drugs. I filled out their paperwork, sat through their orientation, received my WIC checks, and went on about my life. Annoyed, but willing to let it go.

Little did I realize the judgment I would be subject to in the grocery store line when someone behind me would sigh heavily and make snide comments when all you want to do is get your gallon of milk and high-tail your ass out of there. It was humiliating and demoralizing.

In the meantime, I changed the location of our WIC appointments to the office on base. I thought I would be judged less there, and I was right. The next appointment went fairly well, and (other than the continual grocery store glares) I used my WIC checks for good stuff like milk, bread, and cheese.

Fast forward a bit to February of 2011. I gave birth to my third daughter, Petra. She was beautiful! She was given to me seemingly healthy, only to be snatched from my arms 8 hours after delivery when she suddenly stopped breathing. Petra was sent to the NICU, and I was suddenly faced with having to pump exclusively until she got better.

Pumping at the hospital wasn't an issue. The staff brought a hospital grade pump right to my room. Thankfully, colostrum and (later) milk production wasn't a problem, either. I was seen by a lactation consultant and given all sorts of information. I was told that if we were eligible for WIC, I would be able to have use of a comparable pump for free. I promptly called the local WIC office, explained my situation to them, and asked for help... Only to be told that if I couldn't make a new appointment and bring all of my children to the office, they could not help me. I was told that if I wanted my formula checks, I could make an appointment after the baby came home. I politely tried to explain that I wasn't the least bit interested in receiving poison (ahem, I mean formula) checks. I had successfully breast fed 2 children well beyond the age recommended by the American Academy of Pediatrics, and I fully intended to do it again! I just wanted to be able to pump as instructed by the doctors and nurses without having supply issues. I was once again told that they could not help me.

To say that I told them to take a flying leap would be the nicest way to put it. I ended up spending $379 on a top of the line Medela pump and spent the next month pumping every 2 hours for 20 minutes, come hell or high water. It was more exhausting than nursing a newborn. But I did it anyway.

To make a long story short... After earning the "Sickest Baby in the NICU" trophy, 11 days on a jet ventilator, 19 days on oxygen, 9 days on TPN, 7 days on tube feedings, countless failed "car seat tests," and coming home on an Apnea and Bradycardia monitor for close to 3 months, my daughter is exclusively breast fed, cloth diapered, and doesn't "cry it out."

Aaaaaaannnnnnyyyyyywwwwwaaaayyyyy...

I said ALL of that to say this...

How much sense does it make to freely give out millions of dollars in federal funding handing out baby poison (sorry, formula) instead of supporting one breast feeding mother? Not much.

***DISCLAIMER... The following opinions are mine and mine alone, and are potentially controversial, so if you are going to be offended, you might want to leave now.***

The simplest way to reform WIC would be to feed babies the way that they are meant to be fed. Formula feeding should NEVER be a choice; it should be a last resort.Hell, I think that infant formula should be regulated as a drug, not a food, and only prescribed in situations where it is medically impossible for a mother to breast feed her infant.

Now, I'm sure most of you think that my stance is crazy and extreme. Well, as I said before, that's my opinion. Seriously, if I can successfully breast feed three children, then anyone can do it... Given the proper information and support. Take that away, and millions of dollars is being spent giving formula to women that could have (and even desperately wanted to) breast fed their babies.

**I didn't even have time to touch on the health/medical benefits of breast feeding, as well as the superior bonding experience. That, my friends, can wait for another day...**